


First Day Celebration

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Instead of Going to Bed DAI Verse [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Begging, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Sex, Smutt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5316971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen's jealousy gets the better of him, much to Amallia's delight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Day Celebration

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @greyallison's Smutty Dragon Age Fanfic contest on Tumblr.

“Excuse me, sir, may I cut in?”

The masked Orlesian noble reeked of perfume; she figured it was to cover the smell of his impending death. The little man was easily eighty years old but that did not stop him from wanting a dance with the Inquisitor. No, if anything, it probably emboldened him.

The young lord she had been dancing with stalked off with a huff, not wanting cause a scene. And it wasn’t as if he could argue. Regardless of the old man’s age, Amallia Trevelyan was simply not available.

The feeble hands of the Orlesian man held her delicately, as though she were a piece of glass that would break. She maintained her smile. It was a small miracle she had any teeth left to grind.

Josephine had invited every blasted noble in Orlais and Ferelden to Skyhold to celebrate First Day of 9:43 Dragon. She’d had come up with the idea to attempt quelling the tensions between the two nations over the Inquisition’s continued existence. While the celebration was spectacular, tensions ran hotter than ever.

The music swelled to a crescendo as the little man attempted to lead her through the dance. She searched the crowd for anyone to intercede on his behalf, spotting Dorian in the distance who merely waved.

 _Ass_.

She bumbled about, unable to follow. What was he doing? Dreadful minutes crept by, the piece far too long for her to simply walk away in the middle. Should she feign taking ill? Faint? Scream? Of course, she could do none of these things. Of all the pieces she could have been stuck with a fool of an old man, it had to be the Orlesian funeral march that pressed on forever. At least with the young lord, he had known how to lead.

A young Fereldan lord came to her rescue, asking the Orlesian for a turn. Nonplussed, he looked to Amallia with a bow – which she graciously returned – and took his leave. The Fereldan lad was tall, strapping. His smile was kind and, dare she admit, cute. And then his gaze lingered far too long at the neckline of her dress, leering openly. For a moment, she couldn’t blame the boy. He was young and the neckline was quite deep –  _dammit, Leliana_. She recalled Cullen’s hungry gaze as she’d tried the dress on and immediately deciding to wear it.

Now, she regretted it. The Fereldan pulled her in tightly, hand pressing at the small of her back only to slip ever so slightly further. She reached back with a swift motion and righted his position. He only leered in response, seeming not to care that she had been offended.

A firm, familiar hand grasped her by the upper arm and tugged her away sharply. “May I?” The deep baritone of his voice rumbled in her chest and sparked a flame in her stomach that roared to life instantly. The Fereldan lad scurried away when Cullen turned his enraged glare on him. She turned into him, smiling only to be shocked at the fury burning in his amber gaze.

“Cullen, thank you—“

“Not a word,” he growled as he hauled her to the nearest door; the hall to the sublevels of the hold. He dragged her down the stairs as she flailed behind him.

He was angry, furious, that much was clear. But what had set him off? What had she done to earn his ire? “Cullen, stop, please tell—“

He rounded on her halfway down the steps, brow furrowed. “What did I say?” he hissed through gritted teeth. He seethed with frustration, but something gave way as she stared at him, stunned. The right corner of his mouth curled. A crack in the armor. A chink into which she could wedge her roiling lust, burning brightly in the pit of her stomach.

“Commander,” she whispered as she hovered closer to his face, a coy smile spreading across her lips. “Are you –  _jealous?”_

In a flurry of hands and arms, Cullen pinned her to the wall with a growl, his lips crashing down upon hers. A nerve. She had found the crux the issue and struck home, his kiss hard and greedy. He had watched from afar as countless men danced with her all evening while he was relegated to the sidelines dutifully until he could stand it no longer.

“Yes,” he growled as he grasped the hair at the nape of her neck, tiling her head back sharply to expose the skin of her neck. Scorching kisses blazed a trailed along her jaw to her ear, sucking on her lobe.

A soft moan echoed along the stairs from Amallia, her hands buried in his hair as he nipped at her neck. “Cullen,” she whispered as she eyed the open door at the top of the stairwell. “Are you—“

He grasped her hair tighter and she cut off with a squeak. “Do you know what I had to watch? Their hands, touching you, everywhere?” He rolled his hips against hers roughly. The swell of his erection in his breeches pressed through the fabric of her dress, hungry for her. The heat of him radiated in waves. She wondered how her dress had not caught fire at his touch, so insistent.

A voice from above echoed down the stairs and Cullen flew apart from her as if she had struck him.

“Mal, I suggest relocating,” Dorian’s bodiless voice rang down the steps.

“Maker damn this party,” Cullen growled as he grasped Amallia by the wrist and hauled her down the steps. Through the lower levels he pulled her along, but there was no need. She ached for him as well, wetness seeping through her smalls when he had pinned her to the stairwell wall. His jealousy of the men that had danced with her only served to further that arousal.

He threw a door open at the end of a hallway, entering the empty garden. Not a soul in sight, he hauled her into the moonlight near the well. He grasped her by the face with both hands to press a lustful kiss to her lips.

Without ceremony, his tongue parted her lips to taste her and she moaned. His need of her was incessant and the thought drove her mad. “Do you realize,” he began as he grasped her by the buttocks with both hands and hoisted her up. Her legs wrap around his hips, dress rucking up to her thighs. “Just how … ashamed I am?” He spoke through broken kisses, sucking at her bottom lip.

“But, Cullen—“

He cut her off again with a grunt as he pinned her to the edge of the covered well. “Those men,” he growled. “They … touched you so … so …” He broke from her, smile widening as he stared.

She returned the grin in kind. “Should I have stopped them?” she prodded the lion.

He silenced her with his mouth again, leaning into her. She had to lay back lest he push her. She cried out in shock as a hand darted up her dress to her hip, hooking her smalls and stripping them away. Prodded the lion, indeed. He had never taken her  _quite_  like this before.

“You should have spurned them. You are mine. And for that, I think a punishment is in order,” he whispered in a hiss as his hand returned to her core, the other tightly grasping her hair.

She cried out a moan, echoing along the garden walls. Anybody would have heard that and if they were smart, they’d stay away. At least, she hoped they would. But her moans sounded more frequently, her arousal racing to its apex as his hand worked at her cunt.

“Is this what I do to you?” he asked. “So wet, ready for me?”

The amber of his eyes burned molten in the darkness as she stared at him. She grasped for him, fistfuls of his jacket balled in her hands. Her hips rocked, grinding against his hand as she felt fingers part her seam to fill her. Another echoing cry and she was sure someone would send a patrol or a scout, anybody, to make sure someone wasn’t in trouble.

Oh, but she  _was_  in trouble. She was at the mercy of her commander and he was not known for going easy on insubordination. She wanted everything he could give her, every  _inch_  of punishment he could provide. And she had to have it now. Through his breeches, she grasped the length of his cock firmly, tugging slightly.

“Maybe,” she mewled, so close to her release. “There were … quite a few … dance partners that were … quite good—“

“Enough!” he spat as he withdrew from her. She whimpered at the sudden emptiness. “You will know by the end of this that you are  _mine_ ,” he said to her, voice low and hungry with lust as he unlaced his breeches. They fell to his ankles in a heap, his cock standing at attention before her, twitching at the sudden touch of the cool night air.

Cullen grasped her by the hips beneath her dress, bunching the silken fabric up to reveal her pale flesh to the moonlight. Was it the sudden, cool air against her bare sex or the sight of him, his swollen length, before her that made her shiver, her skin breaking out in gooseflesh? She would never know the answer. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance as he leaned into her. He grasped himself by the base of his length, other hand supporting himself on the cover of the well.

The heat of his cock pressed against her slickened folds and she twitched, hips rolling as she looked up to him. “I’m so …” she cut off with a moan as he entered her ever so slightly, “ _so_  sorry, Cullen.”

“No.” he grinned. “You’re not.  _Not yet_.”

He thrust into her to the hilt, sheathing himself in her fully. She screamed in a mixture of ecstasy and pain, relishing the fullness of him in her. Maker, she was so … so  _hot_. It felt as though it wasn’t a frigid First Day evening. It may as well have been midsummer for how badly she wanted out of her dress, to feel his skin against hers.

“Please, Cullen, I’m sorry,” she said with a sly grin, goading him further.

He thrust into her again deeply, repeating the motion as he gained speed. He moaned with her as their skin met, the wet, slapping sounds reverberating through the garden with their cries of wanton behavior.

He lifted one leg to his shoulder and leaned over her to drive deeper,  _fucking_   _harder_. The angle was perfect; she felt his engorged head hitting the sweetest spot with each roll of his hips. The flame at her stomach burned an inferno of heat to her cunt as he pistoned into her with reckless abandon.

“Cullen,” she cried out. “I’m … please … I’m so close.”

He grunted as he rutted into her, eyes wide as he stared at her. “Say it again. Say you’re sorry.” His mischievous grin returned in full.

“I am so …” she paused as he thrust into her with a slap of their bodies. “ _So, very, sorry_ ,” she cried out as he thrust once more, tipping her over the edge. Her climax burst at the seams, all over her body, blindingly bright as he continued pumping into her, once, twice more. His seed filler her, his cock throbbing with each burst.

Gasping for breath, he leaned into her and cradled her head. “I did not hurt you, did I?”

“No, not at all!” Amallia said with her lilting laugh.

“Good. The idea came to me and I … well, I …”

“Hush, Cullen. We should get back soon, lest we be missed and they send a search party to find you with your pants about your ankles.”


End file.
